This one is about poor judgment, a helicopter, small condoms, a camel, porn, and a miracle?

Have you read the judgment?  Did you understand a bloody word they said?  Be honest now, if you are not a learned colleague, do you really have the foggiest clue what those one hundred and something pages were saying?  Hell, I called up my lawyer relative and asked him to break it down to me in small words, and possibly pictures, but even he hadn’t managed to read through it, said it was too obtuse!  Then he patiently explained what obtuse means.  Now I like to think of myself as an individual possessing slight intelligence (but only slight), but I couldn’t get past page one.  Worse still, the analysis by the experts is proving to be just as indigestible as that which they claim to be digesting on my behalf, which then begs the question, are all these legal buggers on crack?  Judge Willy, kindly provide a translation of the ruling, in English, double spaced, size 12 font, with handy little tables and pie charts, such that we, the Wanjiku’s of this world, may understand what you’re on about.  Thank you.

Moving on swiftly, a helicopter is back in the news.  No, not the one that was allegedly overloaded and poorly maintained (and you wonder why the government can’t crack down on Ma3’s?), this time the helicopter making the news is home made.  That’s right, there’s a man out there who went out and built himself a helicopter.  Sounds impressive, right?  You may want to have a look at the picture of said helicopter before you agree.  I’m all for innovation and what not, but where on earth did this young man learn how to draw?  Did he never watch Air Wolf?  Probably not, the man is only 20 years old…  That said, I must bow down to young Onesmus, for refusing to let the limitations of a dodgy education system (ours) hold him back from chasing his dream.  I am officially inspired sir.  Unfortunately for him, however, the government is not quite as excited as I am, and has warned the poor bastard not to fly his contraption.  Serikali says, “…the government would not allow people to conduct experiments that endanger the lives of the public in the name of innovations.  They then advise young Onesmus to “…wait until they informed the aviation department and received guidance from experts.  This would be the same aviation department that maintained the helicopter that crashed into a tree stump? 

And speaking of stumps, “Ghana is facing a "major public health issue" after condoms supplied to the country's health service were found to contain holes and burst easily.  More than 1m "Be Safe" condoms have been impounded by the country's food and drugs authority (FDA), which said they were also too small and not adequately lubricated.  Ghana Seizes One Million Faulty Condoms Imported From China.  Now I could make a cheap joke about the ironic name of said condoms, but some shots are just too easy to take.  What I would like to draw your attention to is this, “The FDA said the faulty Be Safe consignment was imported by Global Unilink Ltd, a Ghanaian company, which had sourced them from an Indian company named Harley Ltd based in Kenya. Amedzro said the FDA has traced the condoms back to the original manufacturer, Henan Xibei Latex Company Limited, in Henan province, central China.  They bought condoms from Kenyans?  And they’re too small?  Insert own joke here, and then insert evil laughter…  Hang on, I should move to Ghana, no?

And here’s further proof that Kenyans are not the most special negroes on the continent.  Some geniuses in Mali ate a camel that wasn’t theirs to eat.  Not a problem, camels get eaten all the time, or not.  Thing is, said camel was the property of one Monsieur Hollande, also known as the would be liberator of Mali (Mali to give France new camel after first one is eaten).  That’s right, the government of Mali gave the French prezzo a camel, a camel that he then left behind with a couple of natives, no doubt because he had exceeded his baggage limit, a camel the natives promptly choma’d, no doubt because they’re natives, and that’s how us natives do.  But fear not, the government is on the ball, “As soon as we heard of this, we quickly replaced it with a bigger and better-looking camel.”  Now that is what I call decisive leadership.

Not to be outdone, on the list of strange and sometimes stupid things Africans do, the Ugandans are currently in the process of banning all things pornography.  According to this author, Anti-Pornography Bill, the bill is an attempt to modify the existing laws, this after an alleged paedophile got away with a slap on the wrist after “…luring underage Ugandan girls to perform sex acts on him on camera”, because there is currently no law under which he could be charged for this particular offence.  The bill, therefore, simply seeks to rectify omissions in the Ugandan penal code, as the current law prohibits publication of pornography, but not creation or use of the same.  Sounds noble enough, right?  Thing is, as with all things legal, they have to define that which they seek to ban.  Enter the Minister of Ethics and Integrity, one Rev. Fr. Simon Lokodo.  The bill defines pornography as, “Any cultural practice, form of behaviour or form of communication…or leisure activity…that depicts a person engaged in explicit sexual activities or conduct…erotic behaviour intended to cause sexual excitement or indecent act or behaviour intended to corrupt morals.”  Suitably vague, isn’t it, talking about behaviour or communication?  Not only are they going after the paedophiles and sodomites, they’re also going after the dirty magazines and strip clubs, the lewd music videos and the slutty soap operas on TV.  And just for good measure, they’re going after the scantily clad women too.  The minister says, “Any attire which exposes intimate parts of the human body, especially areas that are of erotic function, are outlawed. Anything above the knee is outlawed. If a woman wears a miniskirt, we will arrest her.  (Uganda’s Anti-Pornography Bill Areas that are of erotic function?  Exactly how hot are Ugandan women’s legs?  Or could it be he’s just a bloody deviant?  The minister is also quoted as saying, in defence of his most brilliant theory, “An onlooker is moved to attack [a woman wearing provocative clothing]…  He is a criminal but he was also provoked and enticed.”  What the fuck?  And this from a man who wears, or used to wear, dresses?

In happier pornography news, turns out that a third of the online porn traffic is...wait for it...women.  Even better, we are apparently cheap and discerning customers (10 interesting Facts About Women’s Porn Habits).  Just for the record, I said this, many months ago, and you buggers ignored me, but maybe now that Oprah’s saying it (number one on the list), you might just start to listen? 

Last, and most definitely least, the husband crusade was back in town, only this time the ladies stayed away (Women shun find-a-husband-prayers), scared off by the heaps of mockery they must have endured after attending the infamous (and I use this term most loosely) pastor’s crusade, last year.  Fortunately for us malicious bastards, a few women still had the gumption to show up, and from there we get this lovely quote: “I came for the marriage seminar in 2011 when I had had three miscarriages and the man I was dating had left me. After the seminar, I got a man who gave me this child who is about a year now. The man has left me again and I am here for another miracle. I hope I will get another man.  To her credit, and they who were in the (and I use this term most loosely) congregation, it is reported that there was laughter after she spoke.


Attachment? Really? Go figure...

It has finally occurred to me that I really need to get some romance in my life.  How can it be that I spend a Saturday night watching Statham and Stallone blowing shit up, just because?  This is just depressing, I need to get out and find myself some semblance of a dating life.  Scratch that, I am looking for romance.  I want to be wooed.  That’s right, I, (not) Alex, would like to be wooed.  I’m talking roses and chocolate, candlelight dinners and long walks in the park, the whole shebang, dammit!  Cue awkward silence…  Ah hell…  Who am I kidding?  The odds of my finding romance are only slightly higher than Dida becoming my Finance Minister, and even then, only marginally.  I fear that at my ripe old age, I have officially missed the romance bus.  At my age, a romantic evening is one spent at home drinking cheap red out of a tumbler, watching strange men shoot each other, with not a (real) man in sight, not even a bloody tablecloth.  How sad is that?  

But all is not lost, what am I if not resourceful?  This is simply yet another hurdle that has to be overcome in my seemingly tragic love life. 

With that in mind, I went off in search of tips to get my romance groove back.  I should have stuck with the sweaty men onscreen… just once I would love to go to google and get exactly what I asked for.  Just once.  I typed in, ‘how to find romance’ and what I got was ‘what is your romance style’.  What the… since when did romance have different styles?  Of course when you ask yourself that question, the only option left is to click on the damn link and find out what nonsense they’re selling you, no?  No, it only got worse.  Long story short, I ended up at romantic attachment, because romance is apparently an expression of your feelings for someone, feelings that are factor of your attachment to said someone, which in turn is linked to whether or not your mother hugged you when you were a baby.  That’s right, the reason you struggle to find love is because your ma and pa didn’t kiss you three times a day.  Stop laughing, that’s what these geniuses are saying.  Really.  Okay fine, I’ve over-simplified, but to clarify I need to get all scientific on your behinds, are you willing to go down this rabbit hole with me?  Insert evil laughter here…

First up, we must define romance, just so we’re all on the same page.  According to Wikipedia, “Romance is the expressive and pleasurable feeling from an emotional attraction towards another person associated with love.  In the context of romantic love relationships, romance usually implies an expression of one's strong romantic love, or one's deep and strong emotional desires to connect with another person intimately or romantically.”  Based on this definition, it would therefore stand to reason that romance is not a singular activity.  Put differently, when you say you’re looking for romance, what you mean is you’re looking for someone to romance you (or with?).  And that is where the problems start, for most of us at least.  See, we don’t all have the same idea as to what constitutes romance, do we?  I think romance is a well cooked meal, preferably cooked by someone other than myself.  Another woman thinks romance is a holiday at the coast, sitting on the beach drinking Pine Coladas at sunset.  A man thinks romance is driving a very fast car, with (real) leather bucket seats, on a perfectly smooth road, winding down a mountain, with or without a pretty girl in the passenger seat.  It’s all relative, no?  Not so much, as it turns out.

It would appear that your definition of romance is directly linked to your personality and how you form attachments, basically how you connect.  To wit, there are four attachment styles: secure, anxious/preoccupied, dismissive-avoidant and fearful-avoidant.  I’ll save you the long explanation about how you came to be this way, thanks to your childhood and your ‘caregivers’ (if you feel so inclined, read up, Attachment in adults, but I must warn you, it’s not an easy read, at all).   Thankfully, in yet another example of the wonders of the internet, The Truth About Deception offers a much simpler interpretation of attachment theory (go figure), complete with handy examples.  Simply put, the different styles are based on your need for and comfort with intimacy. 

Secure refers to those of us who are comfortable depending on someone and having someone depending on them; they’re happy in or out of a relationship; they’re happy as part of a couple, but also happy to be by themselves some of the time.  These are the stable buggers we love to hate, and I’m going to go out on a limb and state that most of us here today do not fall in this category, if we did we wouldn’t be here, now would we?  Stop frowning, turns out that may not be such a bad thing.  Anxious or preoccupied are the obsessive buggers who spend all their time analyzing their relationships, constantly looking for reassurance, never quite satisfied with what they have, craving intimacy like junkies crave smack.  Sound familiar?  No, not me, you.  Again I ask, why are you here?  Don’t worry, the next bunch are worse off.  Dismissive are the exact opposite of anxious, they’re uncomfortable with intimacy, they don’t trust people, are fiercely independent and avoid depending on others, or having others depend on them.  They’re cynical and often “display negative feelings and hostility toward their loved ones”.  See what I mean about worse?  I have a sneaky suspicion this might be where I fall, when I’m not all secure and shit that is (or not).  The last group, the fearful types, these are the bastard children of the bunch, alternating between anxious and dismissive, preferring to avoid intimacy rather than risk getting hurt.  Just between you and me, I think this category was created for the buggers the shrinks couldn’t figure out.    

Slight detour.  As with all things psychology on the internet, there are loads of handy little quizzes you can take to figure out what style you are, because only by figuring out what you are, can you figure out how not be what you are.  Do I sound sarcastic?  Good.  Do me this favour and take this quiz (Romantic Attachment Quiz).  You haven’t clicked on it, have you?  You’re not going to, are you?  You just shook your head, didn’t you?  Fine, I’ll describe.  This is a 3 page test, 10 questions each on pages 1 and 2, then one last question on page 3, the mother of all questions.  It takes about 5 minutes to complete, and at the end of it they tell you what you are.  Sounds good, right?  Its not.  I did the test on my phone, and Airtel being bloody Airtel, the network vanished as I was waiting for my results, after page 3, so I went back and clicked send again, and this time I got my results: I am secure.  Well, woohoo!  Problem is, on page 3 I picked the answer that sounded nicest not the most accurate, so I did what any O.C.D. idiot would, I went back and clicked on option 2, the real answer.  Guess what my result was?  Anxious.  Hang on, one minute ago I was perfectly fine, and now I need assertiveness training?  Eh?  I went back and clicked on option 3, and lo and behold, now I need therapy, because my fears are getting in the way of finding my true happiness.  Yes, I went back and clicked on option 4, because I wanted them to tell me I’m dismissive, and therefore likely to die alone.  Please note, I wasn’t changing any of the answers to the other 20 questions, questions they told me to think long and hard about.  Can you say bollocks?  There should be a law against bullshit tests on the internet.  Detour over.

Now the reason you want to try and figure out what your attachment style is because they say it influences how you handle your relationship, what you expect to receive and how much you’re willing to give.  The way they tell it, these categories come down to self esteem, how you see yourself and how you see others.  Secure types think highly of themselves, and also of their partners, they’re generally positive.  The biggest problem these buggers face is trying to find another secure one, because there aren’t too many out here (insert hysterical laughter…).  Anxious types, on the other hand, think less of themselves and more of their partners, hence the anxiety, they worry about being abandoned.  These are the geniuses who rush into relationships, constantly, and because they need intimacy so badly they run the risk of ending up in abusive relationships, where their dependency is used against them (read Bad, Mad Love for more clarity, because all I’ve done here is summarise, and not all that well).  Dismissive types are even more special, they tend to think highly of themselves and less of others, or at least that’s how they act.  From the descriptions I’ve read, Cold People, turns out that their superiority complex is simply a self defence mechanism, they want the intimacy they sneer at, but they don’t want the loss if independence, and control, it comes with; “The narrative of dismissing adults has a central theme: ‘I am alone and on my own.’  Autonomy is at the core of their identity.  Relationships don’t matter, the past doesn't influence the present, they don’t need others for anything.  Yet of course their needs (however unrecognized) are still intact.”  If you’ve been around here for a minute or two, you’re probably thinking of one or two deviants who fit that description to a T, no?

Before you go looking for romance, and the partner said romance entails, you might want to figure out what it is you really want, and need, and why.  Rather than trying to force yourself into someone else’s mould, or vice versa, perhaps what we all need to do is accept that people are different.  If your style and someone else’s clash, sit down and find a compromise that works, or leave each other alone, odds are there is an anxious type looking for someone just like you.  More importantly, if you know you’re an anxious bugger, stop chasing dismissives, those idiots just don’t get it, and they don’t want to, so leave them alone.  This is not to say that you should only date your type, although I suspect that would make life easier, or that we should all aspire to be, or be with, secure types (how boring would that be?).  All I’m saying is, recognize what you are, and what your (ideal) partner is; that way you can mitigate the inevitable damage arising from the two of you being together (yes, the damage is inevitable, that’s what human interaction is all about, deal with it). 

Think of attachment theory as troubleshooting.  If you understand why the man you’re with calls you six times a day and repeatedly asks you if you love him, then you won’t dump him for being a clingy bastard, you’ll milk it for all its worth (think jewellery).  If you’re dating a woman who seems none too concerned about your night out with the boys, this as she’s out with her girls, then relax, she’s not cheating on you, she’s secure, or dismissive, either way you’re guaranteed a free pass every so often.  And if you’re chasing a mama who won’t let you put your hand on her thigh, or other, she’s not a prude, she’s simply fearful of your passions, commit and she shall open up to you.  Or not, I may be wrong on that last one.   

As for me and my derailed quest for romance, well, once I overcome my anxiety over my fearfully dismissive tendencies, no doubt I will be very secure in my attachment for Mr. Statham and Co.


Blogging 202: Who stole my mo, jo?

It’s a frustrating thing when you can’t do what you love to do, and what I love to do is create.  Does that sound arty farty?  It does, doesn’t it?  Apologies, I may be many things but I am most definitely not an arty creature (just between you and me, I think calling it art is a fancy way of saying, ‘I don’t know what this thing does, must be art’).  What I’m trying to say is that I love to make things; spaces, pictures, conversations, even food.  Why are you frowning?  What’s that?  You don’t believe that I cook?  I live alone, and I’m not emaciated (look at my cheek, does it not look somewhat, but only somewhat mind you, fleshy?), and I’m a cheapass (read broke, most times), and I’m thaate fae (been around for a minute, or two).  Of course I can cook, a girl’s gotta eat, no?  I’m just saying, I like a good stew, with a good waru, but I digress.  I love to make things, useful things, things that serve some sort of purpose, even if only for myself.  Problem is, for the last couple of weeks, I haven’t been making anything of maana, and its driving me slightly mad. 

Should I give up,
Or should I just keep chasing pavements,
Even if it leads nowhere,
Or would it be a waste,
Even if I knew my place,
Should I leave it there,
Should I give up,
Or should I just keep chasing pavements,
Even if it leads nowhere…

Quick disclaimer, this will be a vague and rambling post.  If you’re looking for my customary clarity (or not), then I’m afraid you’re shit out of luck.  With any luck, I’ll manage to sort out what’s going on in my head and normal service will resume shortly.  I can see you clicking off in a huff…  Pole, but at least I warned you early, no?  Hello…  And they’re gone.  Ah well… 

I’ve been reading a lot the last couple of weeks, this after I got it into my head to go in search of new blogs, once I realised that most of the buggers I’m currently following have gone into (forced?) retirement.  It all started harmlessly enough one morning, when I clicked on the recommended blogs link in my Wordpress reader, because most blogs are on Wordpress and I figured who better to help me find them…  Sweet Jesus!  Its official, there are too many blogs on this internet.  There are also way too many Christian bloggers with pictures of sunsets on their blogs (I get it, sky=heaven=God, but all of you?  Really?  Then again, you are all working with the same source material so…).  I’ve gone through about 50 blogs so far and I’ve barely scratched the surface.  See, I mistakenly thought I had seen everything there was to see out here, but oh how wrong I was.  So, so wrong.  Just when I was finally getting to the point where I think I’m a half decent blogger, maybe even, dare I say it, a writer, I found buggers who make me look like an illiterate idiot, and they’re doing it with what appears to be one hand tied behind their backs, brilliant bastards!  There’s another world of good, nay, brilliant writing out here, quietly going about their business, their mafans jealously hoarding their riches, refusing to share. 

I must detour.  Can all you bloggers out there please put up some form of blog rolls to share the good reads?  Its frustrating to stumble upon brilliance by chance, only to find someone you’re following waxing lyrical in the comments (Flani, you didn’t think to share that Kiriga genius with me?  Bloody Nkt!  Wait, I should have done this by email, no?).  Share, dammit, not all of us are internet junkies, constantly scouring the net, some of us need the occasional heads up.  So help me, I will stop following buggers who can’t take the time to tell me what they like to read, and I know you buggers all like to read, so stop hoarding.  Useless buggers…  Detour over.

So I’ve been reading, and in the process I’m being taken to school.  It’s easy to sit here and type my usual nonsense, wrapped up in my cocoon of deluded brilliance, but when you read someone else tell a story so brilliant its all you can do not to kiss the screen, you’re forced to engage in a bit of self evaluation.  Thing is, in as much as I like to blog, I like to read more.  I love stories, and when I say love, I mean I will give my left boob for a good story, and I will even more happily give said boob to a good storyteller.  Well, I’ll lease the boob out, because I need it back, to give to the next idiot, no?  That may have been TMI.  I love a good story, but after reading many good stories, I’m sitting here wondering if my stories are half as good, hell, mine aren’t even stories, are they?  Should I be trying to tell a story here?  But I can’t write fiction, I don’t want to write fiction, that’s what the bookshop/internet is for, no?  But if I’m not writing fiction, and I’m not a journo, or an academic, what the hell am I doing here, other than having a bit of a rant every so often? 

Reading good writing is humbling, but it’s also disconcerting.  Whenever I read good writing, I get a little gun (word) shy, suddenly second guessing myself, am I good, or am I delusional?  And the same applies to life in general.  When I see a beautiful building, I ask myself, when I’m done drooling over someone else’s creation, why the hell didn’t I think of that?  I then ‘Nkt!’ myself.  Then I toast to someone else’s genius, envious, but not jealous (yes, there’s a difference; envy is lust in the eye, jealous is murder in the heart).  Let me put it this way.  You know how you get all tarted up for a wedding, or a fancy party, pulling out your prettiest frock or shiniest suit, thinking to yourself that you are the shit?  And then you get there and you spot someone rocking a similar outfit, but looking so much better than you ever will?  That’s the feeling I currently have.  Its not that I don’t see and appreciate what I have here, it’s just that she looks so much better in that damn dress than I do…  Why, dammit, why?

I build myself up,
And fly around in circles,
Waiting as my heart drops,
And my back begins to tingle,
Finally, could this be it…

The song is ‘Chasing Pavements’ by Adele, she who has surprised me greatly.  I won’t lie, I didn’t think I’d like her music; experience has taught me that when the masses are waxing lyrical about something or someone, more often than not I will not share their glee, because I am nothing if not contrary.  Its hard to be contrary when it comes to Adele, she can sing, she can write, and she doesn’t look like Barbie.  Its brilliant!  This song is either another sad love song about losing something, or someone, you once had, or a dark, yet optimistic, song about finding something, or someone, you want, but are scared to have.  I hear the latter, its the most apt description of blogging, and life, I’ve heard in a good long while.

And thus we get to the point of my rambling.  I like that there is good writing out here, good Kenyan writing in particular.  I like that there is a multitude of voices, all doing their own thing, all contributing to the collective psyche of a generation constantly derided as being shallow and lacking direction.  I don’t like that most of said voices are on the wrong side of thirty (my side is the right side, no?  No?), but that’s a factor of the media I guess, us geriatric types are averse to most things computer, except porn, porn on a computer we like, apparently (easier to hide, no?  No?  Moving on swiftly…).  I like that my O.C.D. Type A personality is constantly unsettled, and therefore constantly striving to do more, see more, read more, learn more, and ask more questions.  Life is not static, and neither are our minds, and that’s a bloody good thing.  So please don’t pat me on the head in a misguided attempt to reassure me, there’s nothing worse than a sympathy pat, it just leaves you feeling more pathetic (read unsatisfied).  What I would like you to do, if you want to be helpful, is to tell me what you’re reading.  Send me names and links, share your good reads with me.  I’m assuming that if you’re here, with me, then it’s possible we have similar tastes, no?  Help a sister out, please, I need to broaden my horizons, and I am desperate for a good short story, better still, a nice long essay on why African rebels are so fond of weed… 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to try and put down something of slightly greater maana, because I’ll be damned if I let those talented buggers keep my good woman down any longer.  I’m off to find my mo, jo!


This one is about a Bible, and Bible stories.

With our new president (finally) being sworn in on Tuesday, is it safe to assume that life is getting back to normal, and therefore it’s now safe for normal ranting to resume?  I only ask because for the last month or so, anyone who wasn’t singing along to the peace cum ‘let’s move on’ chorus was immediately branded, a. a sore loser, b. a bitter loser, c. a malcontent intent on returning this country to the dark days of PEV, or d. all of the above.  My friend, if you weren’t drumming to the ‘Sovereign Nation’ beat, you were likely to get thrashed by the mob, they who have taken to defending the motherland from all manner of slights, real and (mostly) imagined.  But now that we have a new prezzo, Supreme Court approved, and Mzalendo and Co. have realised that their teeth are but ineffective dentures, I assume we can go back to the petty squabbling amongst ourselves, yes?  To this end…

Have you been following this Bible story?  What!!!  There are days I am very proud to be a Kenyan, days when our levels of foolishness exceed the norm, days when we spend valuable time dissecting a silly publicity stunt like it’s the Pope’s latest proclamation.  The amount of time that was devoted to Kamwana’s new found devotion to family values was nothing short of entertaining (Uhuru tells why wife will hold Bible).  Why, pray tell, should we give two shits about who holds the Good Book, when we know that anything said up on that podium will be forgotten as soon as he steps off it?  I’m not being cynical, look back to all the swearing-in ceremonies we’ve had; did the other men not swear to uphold the constitution, blah blah blah?  Did said men not then turn around and get up to all manner of mischief?  What, you think because the Mrs is holding the Book, things will change?  Excuse me a minute while I wipe the hysterical tears of laughter off my face…  This is nothing but a cheap attempt to mould the first couple into the Obama’s, next thing you know there’ll be pictures of the first couple in a loving embrace and such like fluffy nonsense.  No wait, that’s already happened.  Folks, you know I like me a good tale, but I draw the line at shameless spin, and this is classic, and very shameless, spin.  Talking about reaffirming marriage vows and wives keeping their men honest, where the hell was said wife when ‘dark forces made you do it’? 

Hang on, that’s probably why he needs company while he’s near the Book, he’s probably still feeling the after effects of his brush with the devil.  Don’t worry my president, I feel you, you shouldn’t mess with that mystical (mythical?) shit again, who knows what could happen?  Perhaps a loose lightening bolt, earth rips open and you fall into flaming hell…such like repercussions of sin and what not.  Or you could sign the country away in a daze…  I’ve changed my mind, bring on the missus, at least this way when shit goes to fuck, I know who to call.

And speaking of mystical, I am going to slap you believers out here.  Why is it you never seem to get offended when your faith is routinely abused?  Put up an ad warning philandering women to put a rubber on their Johnnie’s johnnies, and watch the believers froth at the mouth in righteous indignation.  On the other hand, a man suspected of heinous crimes, repeatedly accused of corruption, some of it quite grand, gets up to speak in a church and bursts into tears, and there is nothing but admiration, talking about his humility before God (Ruto weeps in church as he savours Jubilee win).  The man said, post crying I assume, “The same God who gave us victory against all odds will do more exceedingly and abundantly for us. It will be more than the people of Kenya want. God is going to do great things for this country.  I assume the congregation then burst into rapturous applause.  Moving on swiftly…

Still on matters election related, congratulatory messages have been coming in thick and fast from all manner of envoys from far flung lands, from Iceland to Timbuktu (assuming Timbuktu still exists, last I heard they were trying to wipe it off the map, allegedly in the name of the war against terror).  They congratulated us, the Kenyans, for maintaining peace, this as we violently insulted them, and each other, all over the place, but hey, at least we didn’t go machete, so that’s progress.  Clap for yourselves, you peaceful Kenyans.  Then the envoys congratulated IEBC for a well managed election, terming it ‘free and fair’, this despite the fact that it was not free (because we paid some random Wazungus 7 Billion bob), and it wasn’t entirely fair (seeing as the shit we bought didn’t really work), but hey, nobody stole my vote this time round, that I can tell, and the numbers are nowhere near as dodgy as they’ve been in other elections, so I guess it was fair, and expensive.  1 out of 2?  That’s 50%, which is a pass, no?  Let’s clap for ourselves again.  The envoys then, after waiting fingers crossed for Judge Willy to give them an escape clause, finally congratulated our new president, heads bowed in humility, consequences long forgotten.  That the ‘West’ quickly lined up to support the new Jubilee government was no surprise, they’re simply looking out for their own interests, despite their high minded nonsense proclamations of democracy and such like nonsense.  What did surprise me, however, was how happy the new president and co. were to receive them.  For buggers who spent the better part of a year screaming, one hand grabbing their balls and the other fisted in the air, “We don’t need you, we is so-ve-reign, biatch!” (I’ve paraphrased liberally), they were surprisingly welcoming, talking about continued co-operation and shit (Uhuru pledges to work with Obama).  Hmmm…  Methinks there has been a deception perpetrated on the public, at least on those who were foolish enough to drink the so-ve-reign Kool Aid.  Insert evil laughter here…

In news governance, MP’s want a pay hike.  And Governors too.  And County Assembly Rep’s.  And I assume it’s only a couple of days before the Women’s Rep’s come a calling.  And the sun keeps rising in the east and setting in the west.  Traffic is still crap, and policemen are still busting poor bastards for doing 118 on Thika (apparently not) Superhighway.  The more things change, the more they stay the same.  I could go on about this, but to what end?

In other news from the capital, there was an excellent story in Tuesday’s Nation about the plight of Commercial Sex Workers in downtown Nairobi, currently being displaced by the gentrification going on as the city upgrades.  Now its not often that I get to praise a journo on this page, but I must bow down to the author of this most insightful article, New buildings kick out sex workers, for his in depth investigation into the cost of prostitution (I could make a cheap joke, but you’re smart enough to make one for yourself, no?).  According to Mr Omwenga, “Approximately 7,000 sex workers operate in Nairobi per night, with each having an average of 3-4 clients, which translates to between 21,000 and 28,000 sexual activities a night.”  And that’s just the commercial sex we’re having in this city.  Oh lovely Nairobi!  Its no wonder we drive, and walk, like zombies on weed, we’re too fucked to do anything but, and this is the one time I mean that literally.

And in news further a field, the Israel Museum in Jerusalem recently launched a nine month exhibit: Herod the Great: The King’s Last Journey.  Are you currently staring at the screen, puzzled?  I was, when I read that headline.  See, I remember my Bible stories from back in the day, and I distinctly recall that Herod was the bugger who tried to kill baby Jesus, in the process ordering the death of many other baby boys in Jerusalem, he was the despot who had John the Baptist beheaded, and now he’s Herod the Great?  Eh?  Throw in the fact that Israelis are not exactly the most forgiving people, obsessive about their history never being rewritten (perhaps with good reason, given that every so often someone tries to drive them into the ocean), you have to be a bit confused.  As it turns out, this man, when not bumping off his wife and children, and persecuting the Israelites in the name of Rome, was quite the achiever, King Herod is credited as the greatest builder of the land, constructing 10,000-seater amphitheatres, grand palaces and inland ports, left, right and centre.  The moral of the story, just because a bugger is a bit of a (homicidal) maniac, that doesn’t mean he can’t be useful.  This news should give all Africans hope. 

And last, but not least, the Italian police have seized $1.7B in renewable energy assets et al from a Sicilian developer with Mafia ties (Italy seizes Mafia-tied clean energy assets).  Surely, there must be some irony in having your ‘clean energy’ biashara busted for being dirty, no?